


These Boots

by EntreNous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Boot/Shoe Fetish, Fetish, Foot Fetish, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M, Shoe Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:38:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Al spots a pair of expensive boots he can't stop thinking about, he discovers he has a taste for the finer things.  As it happens, so does Draco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Boots

When Al had first spotted the boots displayed in a pricey shop's window, he stopped, lips parted. 

Around him, wizards and witches bustled about on errands or greeted each other. He cleared his throat and hunched his shoulders; he didn't want anyone to catch him stupidly mesmerized by a pair of boots. 

He really ought to walk on. 

He paused. 

No doubt the boots were terribly expensive. The shop itself stood in a block of very posh establishments, the sort his grandmother tutted over and hurried past when she'd taken him to get his school books. Al had no call even gazing at the boots; his Junior Ministry worker's salary made it foolish to moon after extravagant items. 

Despite knowing this, however, the gleaming black dragon skin drew him closer. 

One step, two, and Al inhaled sharply. The warm wash of afternoon light filtering into Diagon Alley revealed the boots' true color: dark green. A gorgeous, rich dark green, he thought as he leaned close, his breath making the faintest fog against the glass. Detailed black stitching played against the deep color, caressing it with intricate swirls and whorls. 

He could have sworn those stitched strands moved ever so slightly, almost pulsing to catch his attention. Without thinking, he reached out a finger to trace the reflection of the vibrant design. 

Two men left the shop. When they stopped just outside, Al hurried off. 

For two weeks after that, every day on his lunch break, he went straight to a commonly visited place: the Diagon Alley Post Office, perhaps, or Gringotts. Afterwards he strolled, seemingly with no particular destination in mind, peering in the windows of busy shops. Then, and only then, did he let his feet take him toward Tupboots Wizards' Footwear. 

Al knew his precautions were completely ridiculous. People bought shoes and boots all the time, after all. And lots of wizards and witches gazed at things in shop windows. Yet visiting his boots felt very different from sizing up brooms or glancing in the windows of Flourish and Blotts to see what had made _The Prophet_ 's Best Seller list. So he held on to his silly safeguards. 

He took his chances at long last on a Friday. Many Ministry workers liked to sneak out early of a Friday, and by lunchtime, the crowds thinned in Diagon Alley. Even his superior had left for the weekend late that morning. With fewer of his colleagues about and no one keeping track of him at the office, Al decided today he could enter the shop without arousing attention. 

He had the strange notion something would interfere: one or more of his many cousins spotting him and making him go along with their plans, or a mate from school insisting they share a meal to have a dull chat about his lack of romantic prospects. The worry made him skip his customary stops and hurry to Tupboots straight away. 

Somehow he made it to the shop without being waylaid. The relief he felt sent a frisson of giddy confidence thrumming through his system. He walked directly to the boots, ready to handle them as though he was the sort of man who _deserved_ to own them. 

The closer he got, the more he could tell these boots were worlds away from the workmanlike pairs he already owned or the scuffed and worn ones his uncle Charlie wore. They were refined, _beautiful_ , the sort of pair one would polish weekly to keep their condition pristine, their gleam entrancing. 

As Al extended his right hand toward the boots, he envisioned drawing one close to his face and inhaling the smell, that deep masculine scent of tanned hide. He wondered how the leather would feel brushed against his cheek.

"Looking for anything in particular?" a clerk asked brightly. "We've a new line of men's dress shoes in: conservative, quality footwear, already _very_ popular with Ministry workers."

Al swallowed. "Oh! Oh, no. No." Smiling weakly, he shifted from one foot to another and back again. "Just...browsing."

"Let me know if you require my help." The clerk glanced down, taking in Al's cared-for but inexpensive black boots with a disapproving moue. With a dismissive pivot on his heel, he hurried over to the one other customer. 

With the clerk occupied, and the shop virtually empty, it was now or never. Al's hands trembled as he lifted the right boot from its display. Just the heft and feel of it in his hands made him shiver. And the smell, _ten times_ more enticing than he'd imagined, its musky odor filling his nostrils and unfolding a bright curl of desire in his gut. 

Just as he worked up the courage to palm the heel, biting his lip at the firm quality wood against his hand, he noticed the price. He knew they'd fetch a tidy sum, but so many galleons! Al squeezed the boot lightly, trying to ward away the ache in his chest. 

He replaced the boot and gave it one last longing look. But it was no use staying and staring any longer.

"Albus Potter, isn't it?"

Al started, trying not to look shocked. He hadn't heard the shop bell announcing a new patron. When he glanced to his right, he found the other customer and clerk were gone. 

"Mr. Malfoy," Al stammered, giving a quick nod to the man who stood to the side watching him intently. "Erm, yeah, I'm Al Potter. I knew your son at Hogwarts. I -- er, how _is_ \--"

"Of course, of course," Mr. Malfoy murmured. "Those are a handsome pair, aren't they?" He nodded at the boots. 

Al shrugged. "They're all right." He'd tried for casual, but the words came out strained. 

Mr. Malfoy smiled and Al's lips parted. He found his gaze darting between the gleaming white blond hair just brushing Mr. Malfoy's shoulders, those fine jade robes that fitted his shoulders so well, the sly grey eyes regarding him with interest. 

"The workmanship is excellent," Mr. Malfoy remarked. "Very few men pay attention to such details, but those who have an eye for them, well." He scanned Al slowly. Like the clerk, his gaze paused on Al's common boots, but when his eyebrow quirked, Al somehow got the feeling Mr. Malfoy was pleased by them rather than critical. "I think you'll find good taste worth cultivating." 

Al had found himself nodding vigorously at the last, but flushed when he remembered he'd attempted nonchalance about the boots. He had to say something to end the conversation before he truly embarrassed himself. "It's just the price --" Al began, and then stopped, horrified he'd nearly nattered on to a Malfoy about something as gauche as cost. 

"Hmmm." Mr. Malfoy reached out to finger the tag. 

For some unaccountable reason, Albus shivered. Maybe it was the pair of kidskin gloves Mr. Malfoy wore; the supple cream fabric somehow enriched the dark green of the dragon hide he touched. Maybe it was the way Mr. Malfoy's thumb stroked along the box of the boot's toe, as if he was discerning some secret from the feel of it. 

"Well. The price is no hindrance to trying them on, is it?"

Numbly, Al shook his head.

"This young man wishes to try these on," Mr. Malfoy announced. The clerk scurried over from wherever he'd been hidden. "Bring a few other pair as well, Avery; only those of similarly high value showing comparable careful attention to craft, if you please." 

"I shouldn't," Albus said after he'd stammered out his shoe size to the now-respectful clerk. "I'm on my lunch break, you see, and I can't stay away long." 

"That is," he added hastily when Mr. Malfoy frowned, "There's no one in my office to complain; they've all gone for the weekend." He wasn't certain why he bothered relaying this information; surely it was irrelevant to Mr. Malfoy. "I only mean, I wouldn't have to rush back necessarily, but if someone from the Ministry walked by and noticed me away from my post --"

"Don't concern yourself over it."

"But --" Albus swayed slightly where he stood. The salesman had since returned, carefully piled boxes of boots cradled in his arms and two additional piles floating after him as he walked; he arranged the lot of them near Al's chair and summoned the full-length mirror closer. "Er, but anyone could just look in and see --"

Mr. Malfoy looked at him, those grey eyes considering. When he spoke, his voice held an edge of disdain. "Some privacy would be appreciated."

At first Albus assumed Mr. Malfoy spoke to him; he gulped, trying to summon the right words to apologize (for what, he wasn't certain). 

But then Al heard a muted, "Of course, sir." 

With a wave of the shop assistant's wand, the windows dimmed as though it were dark inside, the door locked, and the sign reading, "Open for Custom," flipped to read, "Regrettably Closed for the Time Being." And Mr. Malfoy gestured Al to sit in one of the chairs while he took the seat opposite. 

"I'll just show you the first pair," the salesman added, kneeling and lifting the top off a box.

"We won't require your help," Mr. Malfoy said from his position seated behind where the clerk knelt. 

The man looked up at Al, his expression carefully blank. He didn't turn. "Please call should you need me, Mr. Malfoy." He rose and disappeared once more into the back. 

Al felt he must be going mental when he thought he heard the faint pop of Apparition. 

"I think he's actually left, don't you? Can the shop just _close_ like that?" Al asked anxiously. 

Mr. Malfoy's expression was superior as his chest puffed out slightly. "It can, when I'm the owner."

"Oh! Oh, I didn't realize." Al glanced around again, new thoughts working too quickly for him to make sense of them. 

"I've diversified my investments over the past years, and have an interest in a number of retail businesses. This particular establishment happens to be a favorite, so I own it outright." Mr. Malfoy smiled, slow and sure. "Call it a pet project."

"Ah." Al gulped, looking at the boxes of boots on the floor; one stack seemed in danger of tipping. "Look, I really don't need -- that is, _all_ the others --" He had no idea what each box contained, but if they held boots half so appealing as the ones he'd obsessed over, he wasn't certain how capably he'd handle himself. It was one thing to picture such situations in his head, but to see them brought to life unnerved him. Besides, Mr. Malfoy had just explained he owned the shop; could Al in good conscience try on so many expensive and likely appealing pairs and walk out without having bought one?

"I appreciate it," Al continued, struggling to keep his voice steady. "But I really only had my eye on the one we saw, and even those --"

"Let's strike a bargain, shall we, Al?" 

"What?" Al blinked. Suddenly he felt oddly conscious of the fact there were only the two of them in the shop, the door locked, no way for anyone passing by to see the shop was not in fact closed. 

"I meet so few who appreciate the craftsmanship of a very fine boot," Mr. Malfoy continued. "Even among those of my close acquaintance, I know no real aficionado to share my tastes. You seem to me a like-minded enthusiast, however, and I wonder..."

"Yes?"

"I haven't had the opportunity to see patrons try many of these pairs on, or had the chance to learn what might recommend one over another. Though I know you were interested primarily in those boots we spoke about, if you would indulge me in trying on a few of the others first, so I can see how they fit and hear your thoughts on their quality? I'm inclined, should you agree, to make a present of the pair you found intriguing."

"You'd...give my boots to me?" 

There was a slight quirk of the right side of his mouth as Mr. Malfoy affected a careless shrug, but his grey eyes again looked keen and sly. "It benefits trade, and of course, _me_ , to have prominent wizards or up-and-coming young men sport the more tasteful fashions of this shop. And, remember, you would offer opinions on the other boots as we go along. However you look at the situation you'd be doing me an enormous favor."

Al tried to keep his breathing steady; the idea the boots he'd not been able to get out of his head were actually in reach, and for such an easy task as trying on well-crafted footwear, too. He could hardly believe his luck. If there was any drawback to the deal, his fevered brain couldn't spot it. "Yeah, okay," he said quickly.

"You'll want to start with those," Mr. Malfoy said, gesturing. 

Al hadn't noticed until now, but the clerk had left a pair of socks on the table next to his chair. When he picked them up, they seemed well-made and were soft to the touch, but oddly sheer. He didn't know why he should change socks, but he wasn't about to make objections given the circumstances. So Al took a breath and pulled off the boots he had worn today, shucking the socks underneath.

"Cashmere, are those?" Mr. Malfoy asked with interest, eyes focused as Al tugged off the pair he wore only on special occasions.

"A gift," Al muttered. He didn't like to admit he'd traded in a birthday jumper his aunt had gotten him for the single pair of socks; it hardly seemed appreciative or thrifty. But as he caught Mr. Malfoy's gaze following the progress of the sock leaving his foot, he decided he'd be grateful he hadn't worn some worn-out pair with holes in. 

When he had smoothed the other socks on, he glanced up, his fringe falling into his eyes. 

"You certainly have the leg for quality footwear," Mr. Malfoy murmured. He leaned back, right elbow on the arm of the chair, brushing his thumb along the underside of his bottom lip. 

"Shall I start with these, then?" Al turned with a flutter in his stomach to the boots that brought him to the shop in the first place.

"No," Mr. Malfoy said sharply. "No," he continued in a more even voice. "Save those for last. But choose any you like of the others."

Al bit his lip as he uncovered several boxes, choosing first a pair of dove grey boots that ended a few inches above his ankle. He thought they were perhaps a bit much for him, too daring in style. Yet he couldn't help make a hum of satisfaction as he saw them on his feet.

"Stand, please," Mr. Malfoy said softly. 

Al took a step or two, extending his leg at the mirror to look at how the line of heel and arch showed. They weren't as enchanting as his dragon hide dream boots, but they were superior quality calfskin and quite well crafted. 

"They suit you." Mr. Malfoy watched him with a critical air. "And yet they clash with your cloak. Others may do the same; you'd best take that off."

"Right," Al said, hurriedly yanking off it off in embarrassment. 

"Very good," Mr. Malfoy said under his breath as Al walked a few paces in one direction and turned. "The fit?"

"Oh yes -- they're very supple, the leather. They almost cling to my calf, if you know what I mean?"

"Yes." Mr. Malfoy shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. "Another, perhaps?"

They went on, Al trying on various pairs, Mr. Malfoy requesting he stand a particular way or show him how well the boots fastened or slid on, depending on the style. 

Al couldn't help feel more exhilarated as they kept at it: he'd never anticipated doing something as bold as trying on these many pair of excellent boots at once. The process sent jolts of excitement through him each time he coaxed on one pair or eased off another. All the leathers were fantastic, heady to smell, wonderful to touch.

The more Al continued, the more confident he got about telling Mr. Malfoy how this pair buckled well or that had an enticing texture he just had to stroke. And the more Al tried on, and turned, and talked, and made wordless, pleased exclamations at all the beautiful boots, the more Mr. Malfoy watched him intensely and moved about in his chair as if he couldn't quite get comfortable. 

"Yes, yes, very good indeed," Mr. Malfoy said, his voice now husky. 

Al grinned at him. He supposed they were bound to grow hoarse, keeping at it without any pause for drink or rest. It had grown hot as well during the session. Earlier Al had removed his outer shirt and tie, leaving him in a t-shirt (relatively new, as luck would have it, though perhaps a bit too close fitting). He'd have felt more self-conscious about gradually discarding layers, but even Mr. Malfoy had loosened his tie and collar as the afternoon grew late. Those concessions hadn't entirely worked, though, from what Al could see: his eyes kept drifting to the flush of pink on Mr. Malfoy's cheeks, high color accentuating the handsome angular lines of his face. 

"Time for the last pair, I should think," Mr. Malfoy said. The avid interest in his eyes spurred Al to turn quickly. 

"The ones you said I could have," Al blurted, unable to keep the delight from his voice as he bent to open that box. 

"Actually," Mr. Malfoy cut in, an edge of warning in his voice. 

Al halted, again standing upright as he waited. Perhaps he hadn't done as well, or been as helpful as he'd thought. He held back the resentful objections that rushed through his head. After all, Mr. Malfoy had only said he was _inclined_ to give the boots to Al, and spoken vaguely of benefits. He'd never promised without a doubt Al could have them. 

Biting his lip, Al faced Mr. Malfoy again. "Yes?"

"Seeing as they're such a special pair," Mr. Malfoy said in a low voice, "why don't I help you try them on?"

Al gave a quick nod and took his seat. All his mounting disappointment melted away; he huffed a sigh of relief as he bent to undo the buckles fastening the pair still on his feet.

"Allow me," Mr. Malfoy said. When had he moved from his seat to kneel on the floor in front of Al? Al watched, feeling his cheeks heat as Mr. Malfoy pulled off each of his calfskin gloves with care, his grey eyes trained on Al's face the entire time. 

"Oh, of course," Al stammered. He squirmed a bit in his seat even though he told himself sternly to remain still. 

"You may wonder why we saved this pair for last," Mr. Malfoy said, his words more rushed than they'd been in their earlier conversation. After he laid aside his gloves on the table, he removed each boot Al wore with the utmost care. 

"A little," Al croaked. He tried to keep himself from cringing at the odd sound of his voice by gripping the arms of his chair. 

"It's not only that it seemed appropriate to crown this experience with the best boots among the lot. This pair, due to a set of complex comfort and preserving charms, may actually be worn without socks." Mr. Malfoy placed the previous pair of boots next to their box and gazed up at Al. 

"Oh?" Al asked doubtfully. He'd never heard of such a thing.

"Yes. So if you'll consent to try them that way..." Mr. Malfoy's voice had dropped almost to a whisper.

Al nodded slowly. He wasn't exactly sure to what he'd agreed until Mr. Malfoy reached out, his hands bare, to roll down the sheer socks he'd had Al put on earlier. 

Only biting his lip stopped Al from gasping as Mr. Malfoy drew the stockings down Al's calves, almost as if he were caressing them. He hadn't expected to feel so exposed, so sensitive to what seemed a simple enough process. But then the sensations had been building thick and fast all the while he'd tried on the boots, he realized as Mr. Malfoy reached his ankle with the first sock. He'd become so susceptible to each scent and touch of the superior leathers that this deliberate stroke seemed now the inevitable fulfillment to the entire experience.

Mr. Malfoy tugged the sock over Al's heel, up to his arch, breathing harder as he went along. No longer was Al holding back a simple gasp. He'd had to summon all his self-control to stop from moaning in pleasure as those soft sure fingers worked their way over his foot. 

_This_ was why he'd been so circumspect about visiting his boots, why he'd only hoped to hold them in his hands with no one looking. Al had never allowed himself to examine his fascination with shoes, with the special care he took with his feet's cleanliness and softness, with watching what boots handsome men wore when he thought they wouldn't notice him staring. He hadn't had to acknowledge what his obsession with shoes might mean when he'd done no more than fantasize on his own.

Now, though, with Mr. Malfoy's slender fingers holding his foot as if weighing it, Al couldn't pretend no one else had figured out his fixation. Because from where Mr. Malfoy knelt before him, there was no way he could miss how hard Al had become.

He nearly jumped from his chair, grabbed what he could of his things to hold them in front of him, and rushed out with a flurry of apologies and excuses. 

Before he could escape, though, Mr. Malfoy positioned Al's foot, not on his thigh (as Al had sometimes seen clerks do before they reached to grasp a requested shoe or boot), but resting atop his groin, against the thin material covering his own straining cock.

"Oh God," Al blurted, immediately feeling the rush of heat on his face, over his entire body. "Oh, _God_ ," he repeated mindlessly as Mr. Malfoy pressed a bit harder against his sole, his erection hot through the cloth against Al's foot. 

"I knew when I saw the boots you wore into the shop, so meticulously cleaned and polished even though they weren't by any estimation well-made, that you likely took great care with your feet," Mr. Malfoy said, almost crooning as he drew the tip of his index finger along the inside of Al's arch. "But oh, Albus, I didn't realize how utterly --" He stopped speaking, his eyelids heavy as he massaged Al's foot over his hard length. 

Al said nothing, but his hips rolled forward, tipped up as he let out a shuddering breath. He couldn't keep from pointing his toes from the sheer pleasure as he felt the ball of his foot slide forward along that erect prick, as he sensed the rim of the head pressing against his heel. 

"Here," Mr. Malfoy said roughly, showing one of the boots to Al while still gripping his foot close. And Al didn't pause, just seized the boot and brought it to his nose to inhale that marvelous tanned dragon skin scent. 

"Yes, now, rub it against your cheek," Mr. Malfoy muttered. He groaned aloud when Al did so with relish (to think only hours ago he'd dreamed of doing that! Yet it was nothing, absolutely nothing, to what they were doing now). 

"That's so good, Al," Mr. Malfoy said, his voice breaking on Al's name. "So, so, good."

Later, Al would feel a rush of gratitude for the windows, seemingly darkened outside, for all the outward signs indicating the shop had closed. In the moment, he felt far too consumed by excitement to worry about whether anyone could see. He let his impulses lead entirely as he mouthed his lips along the gorgeous green boots and deliberately rubbed his foot against Mr. Malfoy's cock. 

"On," Mr. Malfoy said, half-order, half-sob as he twisted away slightly only to jerk the boots up Albus's legs. "Put them on _at once_ , and --"

They somehow met in mid-air before they rolled to the ground together, Mr. Malfoy tearing Al's t-shirt off and fumbling open their trousers seconds later. Al ended up on his back as Mr. Malfoy grunted between his legs, fisting their cocks together clumsily at first and then with confident pulls. 

Soon they moved into a frantic rhythm, rutting against each other to the accompaniment of harsh breathing and soft cries. "Next time, you'll only wear the boots," Mr. Malfoy managed as he twisted his hips and rode forward. "These boots, and nothing more, when I fuck you --"

Al cried out, his head tipped back and his body drawn taut before the wave of pleasure sent spasms through him. For a few moments he could only cling, overwhelmed by the scents of leather and sex as Mr. Malfoy thrust against him. But when he brought one booted foot up to brace against Mr. Malfoy's thigh, pushing the heel slightly against Mr. Malfoy's arse as he rode forward, Mr. Malfoy gave a hoarse shout and came all over Al's belly. 

"Christ," Mr. Malfoy muttered as he collapsed on Al, all his fine clothes damp with their sweat and ejaculate. 

"That was --" Al didn't bother finishing, just grinned when he felt Mr. Malfoy mouth along his neck at the same time he reached to fondle Al's boot-clad foot still pressed to the back of his thigh.

"Hmm," Mr. Malfoy hummed against Al's ear after some time had passed. "You'll have to choose another new pair of boots before we part -- and I only mean parting for now, you understand," he went on sternly when Al opened his mouth to speak. "I won't have you becoming worried about any of what we've just done." He drew back as he continued, watching Al as he spoke. "Despite the fact that there exist few of us who share such enthusiasms, there's no need for us to feel embarrassment, not with one another. So we _will_ continue this -- this extremely satisfying --"

"I want to, and I'm not -- not embarrassed about it with you, anyway," Al said softly. "I only was going to ask -- I thought this pair would be the boots I carried out." He pressed the heels lightly against Mr. Malfoy's legs, laughing breathlessly when Mr. Malfoy let out a shaky exhalation.

Mr. Malfoy sat back on his heels, a veritable ruin in his mussed clothing and unfastened trousers -- but Al thought he looked incredible and poised all the same.

"I meant I want you to have something better than what you wore into the shop when you depart. Now that I know what a connoisseur you are, I can't have you wearing _ordinary_ boots." Mr. Malfoy sounded slightly scandalized at the thought. 

"But have no fear," he went on as he stroked the tips of his fingers along the intricate stitching of Al's boots, glancing up at him with that sly look back in his eyes. "The pair you're wearing are all yours." He smiled, a fierce sort of grin, and Al felt his toes point with pleasure at the flash of possessiveness in his eyes. "It's just I must insist, Albus, that you'll wear these particular boots only for me."

Al meant to blurt his agreement at once; he really did. But seeing as how Mr. Malfoy took the brief pause as a chance to lean down and claim Al's lips in a thorough kiss, Al decided the shiver of excitement that rushed through him and made his boot-clad heels jerk with happiness had to count as his extremely enthusiastic consent.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist taking the title from the Nancy Sinatra song, "These Boots Are Made For Walkin'". Another reference: when I decided to take the plunge with this kink and pairing, I was inspired in part by a very brief scene from the television series _Sex and the City_ in which one character tries on shoes for the pervy delectation of a shoe salesman. As far as canon/AU goes, though I've not dwelt upon the matter in this brief narrative, I've written the story with the assumption Draco has already separated from or divorced his wife. Finally, thank you so much to the mods for their encouragement and patience! I really hope anyone who reads this fic enjoys it; I had a blast writing it.


End file.
